


Advantage

by diemarysues



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, Multi, Slight Smut, Threesome - M/M/M, lazy writing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-06
Updated: 2013-05-06
Packaged: 2017-12-10 13:56:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/786796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/diemarysues/pseuds/diemarysues
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Because I think Bilbo/Thorin gets too much screentime, sometimes ;)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Advantage

**Author's Note:**

  * For [alkjira](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alkjira/gifts).



> Just a warning that the fic devolves towards the end. I shouldn't write when distraught.

It was an odd thing.

 

Not being hugged by their leader. Well, that was strange in its own right, make no mistake; Thorin had been quite clear about his feelings about Bilbo being part of the Company, and to have him actually acknowledge his error in judgement was… thrilling.

 

No, the odd thing was that instead of replaying that moment in his mind – it would have been immensely satisfying, for all that he tried not to be a vindictive Hobbit – all Bilbo could think of was the very pointed way Dwalin had turned away.

 

He had met those blue eyes, for a split second. He’d seen the unmistakeable pain. And it was with this in mind that nothing could have stopped him from offering to take Dwalin’s share of dinner to him.

 

The large warrior had volunteered for first watch almost immediately after they’d all decided to camp. Bilbo wondered if it was presumptuous to think that Dwalin had only done so because of his and Thorin’s hug. Well, he was going to find out now, by golly, or he’d be – he’d be very cross, so there.

 

“Dinner, Mister Dwalin?”

 

“Just Dwalin, lad,” the Dwarf rumbled, setting aside his hammer. His eyes flickered up to meet Bilbo’s briefly before settling on the surrounding darkness. “Looks like your Hobbit feet are good for something; hardly heard you come near.”

 

“Lucky for me,” Bilbo agreed lightly, handing over Dwalin’s bowl. He only hesitated for a second before he sat.

 

“What’re you doin’?” Dwalin seemed to be directing the question at his food, and Bilbo snorted.

 

“I’m having my dinner, same as you. Only I thought I’d help you keep watch in case you miss something.”

 

There was no reply, which Bilbo took as acceptance of his answer. He chewed thoughtfully as he tried to come up with a way to breach the subject of his wonderings – should he be subtle in his questioning, or should he be direct?

 

Turned out he didn’t have to do anything.

 

“Bilbo,” Dwalin said lowly.

 

The Hobbit wondered if that was the first time Dwalin had called him by his first name. “Yes?”

 

“Just leave it.”

 

He bit his lip before setting his bowl down by his feet. Dwalin looked wary, even if he still wasn’t making eye contact.

 

“I don’t want to leave it.”

 

“You’re as foolish as first I thought, then.”

 

“You thought I was foolish when you walked into my Hobbit hole and ate my dinner?”

 

“Your dinner?” Dwalin muttered, but before Bilbo could reply, he said, “At any rate, nay. I meant when you ran after us. Y’should’ve stayed in your burrow.”

 

Ignoring this slight towards his smial, Bilbo clicked his tongue. “And what good would that have done? As much as I had no idea what I was doing, your King would be dead without me; he said so himself.”

 

He hunched over his bowl, making his shoulders look even more massive than usual. “Aye. Never did say thanks for that, did I?”

 

“Why –”

 

“Y’got there afore me, lad. It’s my job to keep Thorin safe.”

 

Bilbo summoned his courage, and carefully placed a hand over Dwalin’s knuckledusters. It gave him a strange thrill when Dwalin finally looked up at this. “There’s something you _can_ do to thank me.”

 

“…don’t.”

 

He leaned closer. This brazenness surprised even him. “Tell me… what _did_ you think when you first saw me in my ‘burrow’?”

 

The words tumbled out of Dwalin’s mouth as if he couldn’t control himself. “I saw you with firelight at your back and moonlight on your face. You looked… you looked beautiful, like a diamond in coal, and I hated that we were about to drag you with us to your death.”

 

Bilbo’s cheeks coloured, and he curled his fingers so he could touch tattooed skin. He let his silence do the talking.

 

“I shouldn’t, I can’t. I can’t.”

 

“Can’t or won’t?” he mused. “Dwalin, I’m more than old enough to make these decisions for myself.”

 

Dwalin took a breath to protest, and then sighed, shaking his head. “You’re a persistent little sod, aren’t you?”

 

He grinned. “Dwarves aren’t the only ones allowed to be stubborn.”

 

Dwalin flexed his knuckles, letting Bilbo’s fingers to slide across them. “Apparently not. Eat your supper, lad.”

 

Bilbo leaned against the Dwarf’s vast bulk, and did.

 

* * *

 

What was odd was the other Dwarves’ easy acceptance.

 

Or perhaps it wasn’t so odd. At least, not after Dwalin explained.

 

“It’s none of their business, ‘specially seeing as we’re not taking advantage of the other.” Dwalin grinned and leaned back against the tree. “Am I taking advantage of you?”

 

“I’d say you jolly well _are_!” Bilbo arched and squirmed in Dwalin’s lap as a large thumb circled the head of his cock. “Oh, but don’t – don’t stop.”

 

“Wasn’t planning on it, lad,” he said, grinning, and crashed their lips together.

 

* * *

 

How odd that he could still have tears left.

 

How odd that things had gone so wrong.

 

Yes, Fíli and Kíli would live. Yes, Thorin would survive. Yes even that he was no longer banished, and no longer considered a traitor. But what had hurt the worst had come after all these things…

 

_“You love him.”_

_Bilbo stared at Dwalin. Both of them were filthy, both of them were injured. “I love_ you _!”_

_“Funny how y’ didn’t have to ask who I was talking about.” His laugh was anything but amused._

_“Considering we’re standing outside Thorin’s tent, I don’t think anyone needs brains to figure it out.” He couldn’t help himself. Being hurt made his sarcasm and snarkiness emerge like a self-defence mechanism. It took effort to soften his voice and his expression. “Dwalin. Please. Don’t push me away.”_

_“I think it’s best if I do. I’d rather you stay by Thorin’s side. I think you’d rather that too.”_

_“Now that’s not true and you know it!”_

_“Do I? Do I know it?” Dwalin_ sneered _. “I’m not blind, Bilbo. You took the Arkenstone because of Thorin.”_

_“Yes, because he was mad and was going to kill us all!”_

_“No. Y’ wanted to save him. That’s why you came back. And I… I don’t blame you. So yes. Have your happy ending with him. Consider that my blessing.”_

_“Dwalin –”_

_“I take my leave,” Dwalin said stiffly, bowing as he had when he’d first arrived at Bag End. Bilbo’s heart broke. “You’d best tend to your King.”_

 

Bilbo jolted himself out of the memory. He cursed himself as he swiped away the wetness on his cheeks. The massive hole in his chest wasn’t about to be filled by him standing in the middle of the room like a lump, remembering things that were best forgotten. He would, he would finish his packing, then he would say his goodbyes, and then he would return to Hobbiton. He would go back where he belonged.

 

He obviously didn’t belong here.

 

Dwalin burst in. “What are you doing?”

 

“Seeing as I’m not wanted, _Mister_ Dwalin –”, and yes, it pleased him that this earned him a violent flinch, “– I think it’s best I returned to the Shire.”

 

“But Thorin –”

 

Bilbo strode up to the Dwarf and pointed his forefinger straight in his face, silencing him immediately. “If you finish that sentence, so help me, I’ll steal your axes and give them to the Elves.” He turned away huffily and picked up his blanket to fold.

 

“Do it.”

 

He paused at the strangled voice. “What?”

 

“Do it.” Dwalin, when Bilbo looked at him, had hung his head. He looked defeated. “Take them. Do what you please with them.”

 

“But they’re –”

 

“They’re not important to me. Not anymore.”

 

He tried to swallow past the lump in his throat. “What is?”

 

A small, weak chuckle. “…if you have to ask –”

 

Bilbo ran to him and threw his arms around Dwalin’s neck. Dwalin hugged him back tightly enough to make his ribs creak. Against all odds, he again felt tears prickle at his eyes, but willed them away. He dimly realised that Dwalin was speaking.

 

“Don’t go, Bilbo, I… don’t leave.”

 

He pushed at Dwalin’s shoulders, pulling back so they could speak eye-to-eye.

 

“You broke what we had,” he said solemnly, and watched Dwalin flinch. “You have to fix it.”

 

Dwalin’s arms were tense, wrapped around his body and lifting him clearly and easily off the floor. It was encouraging that he wasn’t letting go. Bilbo touched his cheek.

 

“This is step one,” he whispered, and kissed Dwalin.

 

* * *

 

Oddly enough, the tub _was_ big enough for the both of them.

 

Right now Bilbo was quite happily dozing in Dwalin’s arms, trusting the Dwarf to prevent him from slipping beneath the waterline. He hummed when one enormous hand smoothed up his back, relaxing him into further pliancy against Dwalin’s body.

 

A little more awake but still sluggish, he trailed his fingers along Dwalin’s broad chest, tracing random patterns with intense concentration. Bilbo blinked when Dwalin grasped his wrist with a soft groan.

 

“What?” he asked, wiggling his toes. They were starting to prune.

 

“You continue with that, lad,” Dwalin said, voice deeper than ever with Bilbo’s ear pressed to his chest, “and you’ll speed up plans I meant for after supper.”

 

“And what’s wrong with that?” Bilbo wiggled a little so his leg slipped properly between Dwalin’s; he started to lazily rub himself against one scarred hip. He almost purred with delight when hands dropped to cup his backside, squeezing gently.

 

The ends of Dwalin’s moustache had curled with the heat of the bath, the effect of which was hopelessly endearing. Bilbo couldn’t and didn’t resist pressing their lips together, just before Dwalin could reply.

 

“Mmph.” It took the Dwarf a few moments to bring himself to pull away from Bilbo’s determined (and rather wicked) tongue. He attempted a glare. “I meant to talk first.”

 

“Talk later,” Bilbo muttered, and Dwalin… gave in.

 

They did talk later, however. It was a conversation that involved confessions and painful memories of years past – particularly from Azanulbizar and the Battle of Five Armies. It involved shouts and whispers, promises and threats. It involved Bilbo punching Dwalin in the face, and Dwalin holding Bilbo down and murmuring into his nightshirt.

 

At the end of it all though – when it was many hours past midnight – was an agreement, sealed with a kiss.

 

“You realise that if this all goes to pot, we’re moving to the Shire, right?”

 

“Deal.”

 

* * *

 

It should be odd that Thorin tried to avoid them. It should be, but it wasn’t. It was a bit of a relief, truth be told. (It kindled the hope in both Dwalin and Bilbo that their feelings might possibly be returned.)

 

Now that they were looking for it, it was easy to notice the stiff way Thorin held himself when he was in their presence, the way his smiles often didn’t quite reach his eyes.

 

He was definitely not smiling now. Though it would likely have been asking too much while Dwalin was sitting on him.

 

“Get off me!” Thorin was scowling ferociously, trying to break free from Dwalin’s grip. “If you wanted to talk, you can do so like civilised people!”

 

“Except you’ve been runnin’, O’ King.”

 

Bilbo nodded. “Very cowardly of you.” He ignored the snarl this elicited. “Well, what do you want us to say? We put forward our idea and you tried to scarper.”

 

“I will not be party to the dissolution of your relationship.” He’d stopped struggling, and was glaring at the carpet. “You may keep your disputes to yourself.”

 

Dwalin met Bilbo’s eyes and snorted.

 

“You’ve misunderstood us. As usual.” Bilbo fetched a pillow from one of the armchairs by the fire, and set it in front of Thorin. He sat himself upon it cross-legged, cheeks flushed. “Thorin, you know both of us – or I think you do. Do you really think we’re going to bring our troubles to you, or to anyone else?”

 

Thorin kept silent.

 

“Look, all we want is for you to listen to us. From start to finish. After we’re done, whatever your decision is, we swear we will hold to it for the rest of our days. Please, Thorin.”

 

As the silence stretched on, Bilbo watched as Dwalin clenched his jaw.

 

“What is it that you want?”

  

* * *

 

 

Nothing was odd about the scene in the King’s chambers.

 

Well, if ‘not odd’ included having two Dwarves on the bed, one restraining the other, while a Hobbit stood nearby pouring tea for himself. No, definitely not odd.

 

“This has gotten very tiring,” Thorin said crossly.

 

Dwalin snorted, adjusting his grip. “What, did you think I like doing this?”

 

“Yes!” he snapped, and Bilbo chuckled.

 

 “He’s got you there.” A twist of lemon was added to his tea, and Bilbo took a careful sip. He sat on the bed, balancing his cup. “And Dwalin’s got you, Thorin, so just accept your fate.”

 

“You wait.” He didn’t sound angry at all, merely frustrated and breathless. “Once I get free, I’ll have _you_ accept your fate.”

 

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Dwalin growled into Thorin’s ear. “Listening to him squeal prettily as he bounces on your cock?”

 

Thorin snapped his elbow backwards (when had he freed his hand?) and Dwalin grunted, falling off him. Bilbo scrambled off the bed at this, alarmed, but Thorin merely pushed off the sheets and glared.

 

“Do not tease me.”

 

Bilbo set aside his tea and reached to cup Thorin’s face in his hands. “It’s hardly our fault you enjoy it.”

 

He didn’t expect to be bodily lifted and tossed onto the mattress. His breath whooshed out of his lungs; gasping, Bilbo could only watch as Thorin grinned and straddled him. That was _not_ a belt buckle pressing against his belly.

 

“The question is, burglar, if you’ll enjoy… what was it you said, Dwalin?”

 

The other Dwarf was rubbing at his jaw, but smirking as he positioned himself against the pillows, looking content to just watch his two lovers. “Squealing prettily. He’s very good at it.”

 

Thorin turned back to Bilbo and smirked dangerously. He swiped a large thumb over pale lips, parting them. “Well, we’ll just have to see, won’t we?”

**Author's Note:**

> Unbetaed, all mistakes are my own.


End file.
